


Fiévre

by Omnibee13



Series: Brothers In The Dark [6]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Authoritative!Dante, Can be read as a stand alone, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not beta read I die with my pride, Self-Indulgent, Shameless hurt/comfort trash, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:01:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28525155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnibee13/pseuds/Omnibee13
Summary: Dante ran hot, while Vergil ran cold. That was just another example of their twinly differences. Mirrors given life, everything that Dante was, Vergil wasn’t, and vice versa, though they had shared a womb, shared a face, and some may argue, a soul. Though sometimes antagonistic, they were more often than not complimentary traits. So what is Dante to make of it when suddenly Vergil is hot.. to the touch?
Relationships: Dante/Vergil (Devil May Cry), Dante/Vergil IF YOU SQUINT
Series: Brothers In The Dark [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2038610
Comments: 14
Kudos: 74
Collections: Spardacest Server Fics and Art





	1. Une

**Author's Note:**

> Pure Self-Indulgent hurt/comfort trash from everyone’s least favorite Patron Saint of Eye Strain... In fact, this was supposed to be a one-shot, but I don't have an editor to stop me, so it went on for years.

Some things in the world were constant. All things died, for example. Water was wet. The sun rose in the east and set in the west. Easy, constant truths. Another of these truths was “Vergil started the coffee in the morning.” That had been an easy bet since the twins returned from Hell. A few days in, Vergil complained about how Dante made coffee and how apparently they had no tea. Dante had been sassy in return and told him to be the change he wanted to see, and do it his own damn self if Dante’s coffee was so gross.

That was the routine, and Vergil was a creature who enjoyed routine. He almost relished it. So when Dante woke up and found himself groggily ambling down the stairs, he noticed that the back of the shop, where the meager kitchen was, didn’t smell like coffee. It was also empty. Dante half pondered that as he scratched himself over his pajama pants, still asleep in truth. While it had happened before, it wasn’t usual for Vergil to sleep in. It also probably shouldn’t come as a shock if this was one of those rare occurrences, considering the events of the previous day.

The day before had been a real barn burner. The team had gone toe to toe with Scarecrow demons by the docks. It was a rough one, and Dante definitely felt his age the next morning. He only imagined how Vergil felt, in hindsight. The Dark Slayer had taken a hit broadside meant for Nero, sending the kid to the concrete roughly just before the scythe-like arm of a Scarecrow caught Vergil in the chest and sent him flying. It was early December, and Vergil had been thrown into the water. Dante had recalled being really concerned, almost afraid, seeing his brother go rag-doll, then airborne, and then disappear into the water.

He broke the surface though, whipping his hair out of his face, breathing hard. The water was frigid, and the air even more so. But Vergil had treaded water long enough to see Nero, vicious as always, land the killing blow on the equally distracted Scarecrow. It had been one _hell_ of a killshot too, with Nero using Blue Rose to turn the Scarecrow’s head into a canoe. The resulting explosion of gore and orbs was impressive, apparently so much so that the dock’s foreman was more than willing to pay their fee and then some. Vergil was able to swim to the side of the dock, climb back up, and appeared to be unbothered by the cold and the fact he was soaked through. That detail was pushed to the backburner with the celebration heaped on the team from the formerly terrified dock-workers. The ride back to the shop, knowing that they all got a massive cut, was equally exuberant. Lady had found Vergil an old blanket in the back of Nico’s van, but he didn’t complain about the cold, so no one took great notice. And then, back at the shop, the team went through Dante’s horde of take-out menus, all of them hungry, while Vergil ducked upstairs to change and then rejoin them. From Dante’s point of view, it had been a good night. A great night. Nico had done a beer run or two, they ate, Vergil fell asleep on the couch first, as usual, Nero got loud after his third or fourth Miller Lite and Dante played his records way too loud. At some point, Vergil had staggered upstairs and went into his room to sleep, and, again, no one really paid him much mind. Dante had been too drunk to notice that he hadn’t gone into his room to sleep, as that had also become a custom..

Now it was morning, and getting into late morning at that. The stove clock said it was 10:30.. That was late for Vergil. Dante yawned and decided to go check on him, already headed back towards the stairs. He was hungover. His Cambion biology meant that it’d be out of his system in a few hours, less so than for a human man of his age. It still bothered him a bit, but he’d get over it.

Dante climbed the stairs, and found himself at Vergil’s door in a few seconds. He knocked, and waited, because he knew his brother hated nothing more than intrusions in on his space. 

Dante was a little worried, though, when no answer came from within. 

“Vergil,” he croaked, clearing his throat. He was more hung over than he thought. “Verg,” he said, clearer this time, using a knuckle to tap at the door. “You dead, bud?” No answer.

Welp, that was enough for him to break Verg’s rule, and he gripped the knob, turned it, and pushed. He expected to be met with the lock, keeping him from entering, but Verg hadn’t slid it over last night, it seemed. 

There was nothing in Vergil’s bedroom. No personality, no possessions. Just a brass-bed, pushed into one corner, and Yamato, leaning demurely against the wall beside it. Vergil had long since claimed a blue quilt that Dante had picked up, years ago, that once laid across the back of the couch. 

And on that single bed, under that old, blue quilt, a figure was gently breathing, in and out, but otherwise did not move.

Dante swallowed. He wasn’t sure why the scene was so unnerving, but it was. Cautiously, and exhaling through pursed lips, he crossed the room and came to the side of the bed. 

Of course the body that lay there was Vergil’s. Dante had come to terms with the fact that Vergil was here, and perhaps to stay, and that the irrational fear that he had of Vergil vanishing again, was just that: an irrational fear. Not unlike Vergil’s cautious nature when it came to the dark, or triangle patterns; they just reminded him too much of Mundus. 

But no, Vergil was still sleeping, resting on his side, his back to the door. That was also odd, to Dante, because Vergil never did that. _He must be really bushed,_ Dante thought, looking down at his sleeping twin, the latter slightly curled as he slept. Vergil was breathing, evenly, mouth parted, and face relaxed and neutral. Dante wasn’t sure if he could remember seeing his brother at such peace, to be honest. Though one thing stood out to him that he didn’t quite get.

Vergil was naturally a pale guy. Fair skinned, one could even go so far as to say, though he’d bristle at the implication. Even so, any color on his face stood out pretty badly. This was why Dante was confused as to why Vergil’s cheekbones were pink, a kind of blush across his face that made it seem like Vergil, though he was definitely asleep, was flushed about something. 

“Must be havin a good dream to blush like that, huh?” Dante muttered, before resting his hand on Vergil’s shoulder. He gave a small squeeze, a little shake. “Hey,” he said, softly. “Verg? You okay? Wakey-wakey..” 

Vergil stirred, but when he did open eyes to look at Dante, they were without any of the annoyance Dante expected. Instead, he just frowned and squinted up at his twin. 

“What is it?” Vergil asked, still groggy and it showed. 

“It’s morning,” Dante replied, taking his hand away. Vergil’s flushed cheeks didn’t pale. “I wanted to check on you. You didn’t make the coffee.” Vergil groaned and went to sit up. He was wearing one of Dante’s old band shirts. Dante said nothing. He did, however, note that Verg seemed .. slow. Achy? 

“Need to show you how to do that eventually,” he muttered, more to himself than to Dante. Vergil winced, trying to pop his neck. He looked at Dante, one eyebrow raised. “.. I’d ask if you see something you like but I am exhausted and that amount of wit is tiring..”

“You’re all red,” Dante said, bluntly. Vergil looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. 

“What are you babbling?”

“Cheeks,” Dante said, pointing to his own face. _Goddamn, are we both just totally stupid before coffee or was this us just getting old?_ Vergil frowned and touched his face, checked his hand for blood. “No, idiot, it looks like you’re blushing.” Vergil bristled, considerably. 

“I assure you, I’m not.”

Dante recalled something, not quite a memory, but something close to it. Something his mother would do, occasionally. If he wasn’t sure Vergil would try to bite his throat out in response to such an action, he’d have pressed the side of his lips to his twin’s forehead. Eva would do that. When the twins proved too squirmy, though, she’d use the back of her hand. Dante’s rough paws were a far cry from the pale white hands of their beloved mother, but skin was skin, and with a thunk, Dante pressed the back of his right hand to Vergil’s forehead. 

“Christ on a cracker, Verg,” he said, pulling his hand back. Vergil rolled his eyes and, still wincing, went to get out of bed. He wasn’t comfortable with Dante on his feet and he on his rear, in bed, and in pajamas. “You’re burning up.”

“Clearly not,” the elder snarled, but even he had to admit.. he was stiff. And achy. What the hell was going on? “ .. We can’t get sick, Dante, we’re Cambion.” This biological fact seemed to fly in the face of how he felt right now. Vergil had a tendency to lean on his biology. Cambions weren’t weak, they didn’t cry, they certainly didn’t find themselves felled by the same things that felled humans. He rubbed his face. Normally he ran very cool to the touch; Dante was the walking furnace, whereas Vergil was the “cold twin.” But he was hot, he found. Especially along his cheeks and forehead. He _felt_ hot, on top of being hot to the touch, though he had first marked that up to having a little too much to drink the night before. 

“I dunno if I have a thermometer,” Dante was saying, rubbing the back of his neck. “But, I mean, you did end up in the water yesterday.”

“We don’t get sick, Dante,” Vergil repeated, more to himself than to Dante. He was trying to work out what else may make him feel this way. He was forty now, maybe that was why his joints ached?

_Or it’s a fever._

It wasn’t a fever. Now that he was conscious, he was just noticing things, that was all. It was early December and the shop was drafty, and that was why he felt chilly. 

_Or it’s a fever._

The only reason why his head was throbbing, and his muscles ached was because he drank too much the night before and he had gotten hit hard in the upper body during the mission yesterday.

_Or … it’s a fever._

“ .. We don’t get sick, Dante!” Vergil protested, as if he’d be able to ward off Dante’s concerned look with his own denials. “And, as you said, you have no thermometer, so who can say? Can you please get out of my room so I can dress in pea--?”

“I got a meat thermometer in the kitchen,” Dante said, as though that was some great revelation. 

“So?!” Vergil said, throwing his hands up. “We don’t get sick, Dante!”

“Say “we don’t get sick, Dante,” one more time, so I can scratch it off my “Pissed Off Verg Bingo Card.””

“Out!”

Dante was roughly shoved from his brother’s room, the door almost hitting him on the ass as he stumbled into the hallway. He sighed, his head throbbing too hard for this shit, for Vergil’s testy, bitchy shit. Still, though, he exhaled hard, closed his eyes and let his head fall back as he stood in the hallway, hands on his hips, and he waited.

Sure enough, the bedroom door behind him was yanked open and Vergil was standing there, wearing his quilt over his shoulders like a cape. He looked suitably pissed off, for Vergil, and his face was still flushed. 

“ .. You good?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Vergil still glowered at him, but swept past Dante to head for the stairs. 

“That stupid meat thermometer better be washed,” Vergil snarled, hitting the stairs. Dante sighed and followed. 

“It’s in the drawer,” he said, following Vergil into the kitchen. “And it’s _December._ it’s not like I’ve been grillin up a storm, Verg.”

“I’ve seen how you do dishes,” the elder snarled, and Dante was sorely tempted to kick him in the ass. 

“You talk a lot of shit for somebody who is lookin for my help,” Dante remarked, but as they rounded the corner into the kitchen, Vergil was still scoffing at the notion.

“I don’t need your help,” he said, airily. “This is merely to disprove a theory.” In a perfect world, Dante was sure Vergil would wear a cape always. He swept around the kitchen, sitting at the kitchen table like a king sat at his throne. Dante rolled his eyes, his back to his brother, as he dug through the junk drawer for the meat thermometer, the fancier one that Nero had got him, the one with the probe and the little handheld display. “This exercise will prove I _don’t_ have a fever, because we _don’t_ get sick, and then I can work on discovering exactly what is wrong with me.”

“Say “ah,” then,” Dante said, finding the thermometer and turning to face his brother at the table. Vergil opened his mouth, wincing when Dante maybe was intentionally too rough with the probe. He thumbed the black button on the hand-held control and waited. “It’ll take a minute.”

“Ith thith clean?” Vergil slurred, around the thermometer.

“Don’t talk, you’ll fuck up the reading,” Dante admonished, watching the digital numbers climb. 

“ … Thith ith athinine … “

“If you don’t shut your trap..”

Vergil glared at him, though that normally vicious look was hamstrung by his blankie cape and the thermometer. 

To his credit, though, Vergil stayed quiet, until the display beeped and Dante took the thermometer out. He was frowning at the hand-held, a sign that Vergil took as his own triumph, sitting smugly in his chair.

“See?” He said, pleased with himself, while Dante dug in his pajama-pants’ pocket, and pulled out his phone. He was thumbing something, but Vergil was too busy gloating to care. “We’re Cambion. We don’t get si—”

“You have a fever of 101.7,” Dante finally said, shamelessly interrupting Vergil. 

“ … Pardon?”


	2. Deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Verg, you went into freezing water yesterday and didn’t get fully dry for hours,” Dante said, blunt. “I have a hangover with a splitting headache, because I got piss drunk last night. Cambion, though we may be, fuckin gods we ain’t. You have a fever. You’re gonna park your ass on the couch or I’ll thump ya. You got me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I swear to God, this was meant to be a one-shot..

“You have a fever of 101.7,” Dante finally said, shamelessly interrupting Vergil. 

“ … Pardon?”

Dante showed him his cell phone screen, and the hand-held display. The display said 100.6, but according to a quick Google, while a meat thermometer could be used to take ones temperature, it was usually off by a degree, going away; meaning Vergil’s temperature was solidly in the 101 territory. 

Vergil frowned and snatched the hand-held from Dante’s hands, while he put his phone away and moved around the kitchen. 

“This can’t be right,” the elder protested, frowning deeply. His body reacted poorly to the news. His head hurt a little more, his body ached, and the shivers were setting in. It was all likely the power of suggestion, or so he wanted to tell himself. There was simply no way.. 

“I ain’t got lemon, but I can make you tea with honey,” Dante said, frankly. He was digging in the cabinets. “Ma always said “feed a cold, starve a fever,” but I mean .. hot tea fixes everything, don’t it?”

“I’m not sick,” Vergil protested, pointing to his own chest. “We were stupid to think a meat thermometer would work..”

“Verg, you went into freezing water yesterday and didn’t get fully dry for hours,” Dante said, blunt. “I have a hangover with a splitting headache, because I got piss drunk last night. Cambion, though we may be, fuckin gods we ain’t. You have a fever. You’re gonna park your ass on the couch or I’ll thump ya. You got me?”

Vergil opened his mouth to protest, but Dante leveled The Look ™ at him, and was only a little surprised when it cowed Vergil, like it cowed Nero. Still glowering, Vergil stalked his way towards the couch in the sitting area. _Petulant asshole…_ Dante busied himself with trying to sort out how to make tea using the electric kettle. Couldn’t be that hard, but then again, maybe there was a reason why Vergil always did it.

Speaking of the Ice Prince, he had parked himself on the couch, as he was told, and was thumbing the remote, seeing nothing on the television that interested him, as usual. He was brooding, as well, deeply upset that Dante was right and he was wrong. It wasn’t that Vergil was unfamiliar with illness; he and Dante had gotten some sort of sickness that he vaguely remembered when they were children, but he had chalked that incident up to the fact that they were children, after all, and by nature weaker than they should be as full grown Cambion.. Yet there he stewed, face hot to the touch, but struck with intermittent shivers, racked with body aches, and a throbbing head. Vergil glared at the TV, mostly because Dante wasn’t in front of him. 

_This is bullshit.._

“Tada,” Dante said, cutting across Vergil’s pouting session to offer him a steaming mug. “Lemme know if it needs sugar. Because until it breaks, that’s all you get.”

“What are you talking about?” Vergil grumbled, blowing at the surface of the tea before taking a drink. It didn’t need sugar, no, because Dante had decided to drown it in honey. The warmth felt good, though Vergil would sooner chew his own leg off than admit it to his twin. 

“You feed a cold and starve a fever,” Dante said, sitting beside him on the couch. “That’s what Ma always said.”

“How do you know what Mother always said?”

“I listened. Let’s watch The Price is Right.”

“Let’s not,” Vergil muttered, changing the channel out of spite. He pulled the quilt tighter around his shoulders. “This house is drafty..”

“You cold?”

“No.”

Dante rolled his eyes. 

“Does it ever get tiring? Being a contrarian asshole, all the time? Can’t take a sick-day from it?” 

“I’m not sick!” Vergil said, almost sounding shrill. Dante threw a pillow at his face and Vergil, sputtering, tried to stand. 

“Where are you going?” Dante demanded, watching him gather up his quilt.

“Away from you!” Vergil snarled back at him, but Dante was quicker, vaulting over the couch and stepping on the hem of Vergil’s quilt. Vergil stopped, true, but he just stood there, shoulders hunched. 

“I told you to park your ass on the couch,” Dante said, cooly. Vergil scoffed, but didn’t move, either for the stairs or for the couch. “Because you’re sick. Deny it all you want. But it’ll probably pass in a few hours if you just do what I say and not fight me every step of the way like a brat.”

Vergil seemed to weigh his options.

“.. I’m hungry,” he said, finally, as though offering terms. 

“This isn’t a negotiation, Verg,” Dante countered, reaching down to grab the quilt edge with both hands. Vergil scoffed again, but turned anyway and started to sweep towards the couch, though he paused when he realized Dante wasn’t budging. “You’re going to do as I say, alright? That way you can get better.”

“Oh, I’m sure you _love_ this, don’t you?” Vergil sneered, extra nasty. “Tickles you just right, doesn’t it?”

“See? You’re off your game,” Dante said, letting go of Vergil’s quilt, also going for the couch. “That snide comment didn’t hurt me one bit. Sit.” Vergil did so. “Park it.” Vergil grunted and looked away from Dante, pulling the quilt tighter around himself. “Nap.”

“On command?” Vergil asked, incredulous. 

“No, but it’d do you some good,” Dante said sitting beside him, on the opposite edge of the couch. Vergil pulled his legs up, tucking them under himself and under his blanket cape. For a time, an awkward silence reigned between them. Dante was, or at least wanted to be, a big softy, but when he had to use his intimidating tone, he was very much in charge. He didn’t like to use it, and it made things touchy between his twin and himself. 

Vergil had his elbow on the armrest, his head on his hand, staring at the television, but not actually watching whatever was on. He detested television sometimes.. He glanced at Dante, and scowled when he realized he was watching him. He leaned forward and took up his mug of tea, having put it down in a huff when he decided to storm off. Thankfully it was still warm and it helped to still some of the chills, though he still asserted that the shop and house were drafty. 

Dante was till staring at him, and while Vergil _wanted_ to leave, his younger brother made it clear it wasn’t an option. And perhaps, his younger brother also realized, that his challenging of Vergil and Vergil’s subsequent submission, signaled that he really _wasn’t_ feeling well. Not that he’d ever admit as much to Dante, but Vergil’s body still ached, considerably, the flush in his face was uncomfortable, and the chills kept coming and going. 

“Why aren’t I allowed to eat anything, again?” Vergil demanded, trying to keep his composure and get Dante’s gaze off him. The latter shrugged, though it was without his usual snark. 

“I dunno,” he admitted. “I just know that you’re supposed to feed a cold – so like, if you have a cold, you need to eat – and starve a fever, which you have. Old wives’ tale, or something.” 

“So there is nothing _substantial_ keeping me from being allowed to eat something?” Vergil asked, one eyebrow arching. Dante sighed, and perhaps realized he was losing his fight. Better to pick and choose the battles to ultimately win the war.. Dante went to stand. 

“If I get you something to eat, will you lay off my ass?” He offered, honestly. Vergil paused to consider it, enjoying having a bargaining chip.

“Likely,” he finally allowed. Dante shook his head, but didn’t say anything more as he walked around the couch and headed for the stairs. Vergil watched him go, wondering what he was up to. While he _had_ been forbidden from leaving the couch, what Dante didn’t know wouldn’t come back to hurt him. He uncurled himself off the couch and came to the foot of the stairs, listening. He heard Dante in his room, shuffling for something, but when the footsteps seemed to come back towards the landing, he hurried back to the couch and sat, as if he’d never moved. 

“You ain’t slick, by the way,” Dante called, as he crossed behind the couch, headed back for the kitchenette. Swearing under his breath, Vergil craned his neck to listen. Dante had pulled his “the dude” sweater jacket out of his bedroom, and was wearing it as he came back into the sitting area, holding an apple in one hand and two white plastic bottles in the other. “I should write a book.”

“What a short book it’ll be – ”

“”How to Care for Your Garden Variety Ice Princess~””

Dante held an apple out, within Vergil’s reach. If he heard his brother’s stomach rumble, he didn’t comment on it, but his lazy, tired, grin didn’t falter when he pulled it back as Vergil reached for it, and scowled. 

“You want this?” He asked, coy.

“Obviously,” Vergil snarled.

“Then you’ll behave and take two of these,” Dante said, pressing the two pill bottles into his hands. One was a standard baby aspirin, and the second was a mid-tier over the counter sleeping pill. Vergil frowned and looked at Dante with some skepticism. 

“Why?” He demanded.

“This one,” Dante said, patiently tapping the first bottle, “will help bring your fever down. This one, will help you sleep. As your fever breaks, you’ll feel more and more like shit, so you’ll want to sleep through them.” Vergil didn’t like how pleased he looked with himself. 

Still, he elder scoffed and worked to open the pill bottles. He tipped the aspirin into his hand, popped it back into his mouth, and followed it with a gulp of tea. Dante watched, perhaps to make sure Vergil kept his end of the bargain, idly shining the apple on his sweater. Vergil did pause to look at the sleeping tablets. 

“These are less than 100 mg,” he said, reading the label. Dante appeared apprehensive.

“Yeah, don’t take more than one, okay?” He said, seemingly genuinely worried while Vergil raised an eyebrow at him. He scoffed.

“Don’t be shocked if these human medications don’t have their desired effect, Dante,” Vergil said, haughty, before popping one into his mouth, and chasing it with tea. Dante frowned at him and Vergil, rolling his eyes, opened his mouth, lifted his tongue. “Swallowed. Now. If you please?” He held his hand out for his apple. Dante sighed and let him have it. 

While Vergil lounged, already crunching at his apple, Dante rounded the couch and sat in his previous spot. 

“Just don’t be shocked when these human medicines do nothing,” Vergil said again, getting more comfortable where he lounged. There was nothing good on television and he was finding himself more and more disdainful of the medium. Dante made a knowing noise, watching him. 

He was a good actor. Dante gave nothing away, least of all that, while in the kitchen, he swapped some of Lady’s “good” sleeping pills for the cheap, over-the-counter ones..


	3. Trois

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His twin never truly looked peaceful. He was always thinking, always frowning, and it bothered Dante, when he found cause to obsess about it. True, Vergil didn’t exactly look like a renaissance painting in that moment, he was at least sleeping deeper than Dante had seen him sleep in a good, long while.

Drugged-up Vergil was a far cry from Sleeping Beauty. It took a solid fifteen to twenty minutes, but once it hit Vergil, boy, did it hit him. Dante would occasionally glance over at his twin, the elder with his head on his arm, propped up on the arm rest, mouth slightly open, snoring softly. The younger twin was immensely pleased with himself, looking from the television to where Verigl was passed out hard on the couch. Yes, the elder’s face was still flushed, so he assumed the fever had not yet broken, but at least he was resting. 

Dante was able to leave him on the couch more than once, changing into more appropriate clothes and even letting Nero into the shop. 

Nero had whistled, leaning over the back of the couch to look at his father.

“He’s out,” he said, stating the obvious. 

“He’s sick,” Dante said, with a shrug. “I’m betting he’ll feel better before bedtime.” 

Nero had dropped off some food and gave an update on the state of affairs for the shop and mobile units. No new jobs that he or Morrison could report. That didn’t surprise Dante, considering the magnitude of the previous day’s job. 

“What’d you give him?” Nero asked, tilting his head. 

“Lady had a nasty injury a few years back, and the clinic prescribed her some good pain killers and sleep aids,” Dante explained. He grinned, lopsided, while Nero gave him a smirk of his own.

“You drugged Vergil?” He chuckled. “Jeez.. Did you have to hide it in a piece of cheese?”

“Not at all,” Dante said, smoothly. “Your old man took it himself.” The disbelieving eyebrow raise from Nero said a lot. Dante waved him off. “I’ll call you.”

With Vergil firmly parked on the couch, Dante was able to go about the daily chores that went with running the shop. Or, rather, he _had_ that option. He chose not to take it, instead favoring the option of sitting on the couch, watching Vergil sleep. 

His twin never truly looked peaceful. He was always thinking, always frowning, and it bothered Dante, when he found cause to obsess about it. True, Vergil didn’t exactly look like a renaissance painting in that moment, he was at least sleeping deeper than Dante had seen him sleep in a good, long while.

All the same, as the day wore on, Dante gently shook Vergil’s shoulder again. With a sharp inhale as consciousness found Vergil, he tried to sit up, bleary eyed and confused.

“Hey, sleepy-head,” he teased, taking advantage of his twin’s disorientation upon waking to feel his forehead and cheeks with the back of his hand. “Still feeling like death warmed over?”

Vergil’s hair was mussed, some of it falling into his face, and he didn’t fight having his face touched.

“How long have I been out?” He croaked. Dante clicked his tongue. 

“More than a couple hours,” he said, giving nothing away. “Guess you needed a nice nap, huh?” 

Vergil felt slightly better than he recalled feeling just prior to falling asleep, with his headache more or less gone, and he no longer felt the shivers from chills that came and went, but his body was still sore and his face still hot. It was surprising, to him, that he had slept that deeply for that long. 

“I suppose so,” he was forced to admit. Vergil rubbed his face, feeling very much removed from the day. He hadn’t remembered when he’d slept that soundly last. “I’m .. I think I’m going to go upstairs. And sleep in a bed.” 

Dante raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t glad,” he said, with a shrug. “Knew you’d see it my way, though.” He winked. Vergil was too tired, yet, to meet his twin with his usual level of impatience or prickliness. He just hummed an acknowledgement and went to stand. 

_Yup.. Still achy._

Vergil kept his quilt around him, still a cape, but with his hair disheveled and his eyes still squinting with exhaustion, he looked far less intimidating than he’d hoped. 

“You good?”

“Fine,” he replied, before yawning. “I’m just going to sleep in a bed before this couch does irreversible damage to my back.” Dante chuckled and shrugged. 

“You want me to bring you up anything?” He offered, while Vergil made his way to the stairs. Vergil just grunted what he hoped sounded like a negative. As heat rises, he found that the upstairs of the shop was pleasantly warm, and he was eager to pass out again, despite himself. 

Barely thinking about it, Vergil turned into a bedroom and, blinking, swore to himself. He had turned into Dante’s room. He hadn’t wanted to; if he was truly ill, then he didn’t want to get Dante sick. Not that he’d ever admit it to the younger man.. Although, since he was there, and he was tired, he didn’t see the harm in plopping onto the bed, above the covers and curling under his cape quilt.

_Just for a moment,_ he promised himself. _Just a few minutes and then I’ll go into my own room, my own bed.._ He inhaled, smelled Dante’s cologne and fell asleep again.

…

“Oh, sleeping beauty,” Dante sang, softly, creaking open Vergil’s bedroom door. He had let his twin sleep another two hour before deciding to bring him up some chicken broth in a mug. If his fever hadn’t broken by now, he’d be surprised. “Brought you some chicken br—”

Dante paused, tilting his head. 

Vergil’s bed was empty?

Quiet panic set in, until Dante thought to check his bedroom. He thought he may wake Vergil up with how heavy his sigh of relief was. Vergil was in his bed, sprawled out under his quilt. Dante shook his head, but didn’t move to wake him. Instead, he checked Vergil’s check with the back of his hand, gently laying skin to skin. His cheek was clammy, a little sweaty even, but no longer warm to the touch. Apparently his fever had decided to break. 

Not wanting to wake him, Dante quietly left the bedroom and headed back downstairs. It’d be a long night, sleeping on the couch, but it’d be alright, if it meant Vergil could ride out this restful sleep..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I need an editor/beta reader..
> 
> Anyway, if you like what you read, please consider leaving a kudos and a comment. I thrive off the latter and appreciate the former. Of course, if you have any requests, that avenue is always open, either here in the comments or over on tumblr at omniverbosity.tumblr.com.


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